The Great Escape
by Inkfowl
Summary: This story starts right before Gatsby is shot. George Wilson fires his gun to end a life, but what does it start? Relationships and emotions ripple like waves towards their own green lights.
1. IntroductionTeaser

Nick could hardly sit still at work. Ever since his dream last night he had a sick feeling in his gut and it only got worse with each passing moment. His gut told him to go to Gatsby's house, but he couldn't just leave work. He had tried calling the house several times but the line was always busy, which didn't make Nick any less nervous. About fifteen minutes later and he was practically trembling in his chair. _'It's probably nothing'_ he kept thinking to himself, but that didn't do anything to calm him. He glanced nervously at the clock. It was 1:03. He had his lunch break in two minutes. It took about 10 minutes to get to the train station, 30 minutes to West Egg, and about 5 minutes to get to Gatsby's, he could make it there around 2 o'clock. Then again that would be 45 minutes there and back, and he only had 40 minutes for lunch. "It's probably nothing." Nick whispered to himself. "Nothing."

Nick stood outside the building and started walking towards a little restaurant that he frequently visited on his breaks. The food was always delicious and this cute waitress was always happy to see him. He stopped at the entrance, but he didn't go in. Instead he turned his back on the restaurant and ran into the middle of the street to flag down a taxi. Before he rushed into traffic the thought of Myrtle crossed his mind. Luckily the car in front of him wasn't driven by Daisy and came to a screeching halt.

"What the hell are you doing?!" The cabbie leaned out of his window.

Nick opened the backseat and jumped in. "I need to get to the train station."

"So you thought it was a good idea to almost get yourself killed?!" The cab had already started moving back with the flow of traffic and the meter was running.

"Listen I just need to catch a train to West Egg as soon as possible so could you please speed up?"

"Alright, alright. But if I get pulled over you'll be paying my fine." He added under his breathe. "You lunatic."

* * *

On West Egg there was more difficulty finding a ride, but at 1:58 Nick was on his way to Gatsby's mansion. The whole ride over his heart and gut felt like they were sinking lower and lower into this unexplained unease. When the taxi had barely stopped at the front door Nick threw some money to the front seat and jumped out. He didn't bother knocking on the door, but instead shoved them open and started sprinting for the pool in the back. The new servants looked at him, but none tried to stop him. Nick was outside on the lawn when he took a moment to let out a sigh. Gatsby was lounging in the pool on an inflatable bed. However as soon as he spotted Gatsby he spotted an ashen figure moving through the trees. Nick started running toward the pool again to intervene. The figure raised an object...a gun. Nick was almost there. "Gats..." The sound of a gunshot was heard and then a splash in the pool. Nick felt like he couldn't breathe. His head was swimming and he couldn't think straight. There was another gunshot and Nick's mind went blank, almost like he blacked out while awake. The next thing he remembered he was laying by the pool and shaking. He stared up at Gatsby's light blue eyes and dripping wet hair.

"It's going to be alright old sport." Then Gatsby yelled to his servants that had gathered around. "Someone call the hospital!"

The butler didn't move. "But the phone lines have been on hold for..."

"This is more important than that! Call the damn hospital and get a goddamn ambulance!"

Nick was pretty sure he was going into shock and slowly losing consciousness. He felt Gatsby grab his hand. "Nick...Nick look at me."

Nick thought _'Where else could I look? You're right in front of me.'_ but felt like he shouldn't talk. Gatsby however didn't stop talking. "Stay with me old sport, you're going to make it through this. I don't even think you got shot anywhere vital. Just don't close your eyes on me, hand in there. Don't close your eyes Nick, help will be here soon. Stay with me old sport, stay with me."

Simply telling someone not to close their eyes, or to stay awake does little to actually help the person with the task. So despite Gatsby's urging Nick's blinking became more frequent until the time where his eyes wouldn't open.

* * *

(A/N: This is simply a teaser/introduction so that's why it's so short. I also can't decide whether I want this story to be in the 20's or today, so if you have any input I would love to hear it.)


	2. Waking Up

(A/N: Alright, I've decided that this story's setting will be in the 20's. However there will be more modern social standards (like interracial marriage is okay), and maybe a few other modern things. The story will also be in 1st person from now on.)

* * *

I rembered getting shot, Gatsby speaking to me, and then the next thing I remembered I was lying down, staring at a white hospital ceiling. I blinked as the light assulted my eyes, and then like everyone who wakes up in a strange place I tried to sit up, which would be instantly regrettable. Before I could however, there was a hand on my chest keeping me down.

It was Gatsby. "Whoah there old sport, take it easy."

I leaned my head back against the pillows and closed my eyes. "What...what happened exactly?"

He moved his hand from my chest to grasping my hand. "You were shot."

I opened my eyes and looked at him. "Really? I got shot? I hadn't noticed."

"You asked what happened."

"I meant _after_ getting shot."

"Well right after that you fell into the pool and I pulled you out. I called the hospital and I'm sure you can put together the rest."

"What about Mr. Wilson? I remember hearing a second shot."

"He was shot, but not fatalily. One of my...servants got him in the leg. He's at the police station now."

"At least he's okay."

"Okay?! He's the one who almost killed you..."

I interrupted him. " **Almost** , he almost killed me. He's not a murderer, just...troubled. Besides, he was aiming for _you_ , and he was only doing that because his wife got ran over due to the irresponsibility of..." I was going to say _'of Tom, Daisy, and yourself'_ , but the concerned look on Gatsby's face made me choose a different answer. "He's just troubled."

Gatsby was quiet for a moment. "I'm assuming that means you won't be pressing charges, although he'll still be in jail for awhile, for attempted murder."

"If I have a choice I'd like him to spend more time in therapy than in jail."

"Hm...I don't think there'll be any guarantees, but you can try having a say in it."

I sighed and stared at the ceiling again. The sound of someone entering the room startled me. Without Gatsby's hand on my chest I sat up...and instantly regretted it.

The nurse who had entered shook her head. "Why do people always do that? Now look what you've done."

I looked. On my stomach the hospital gown started getting red, but there wasn't as much pain as I expected, it was actually pretty numb. The nurse unplugged a few things behind me and started wheeling the bed down the hall. "Your sudden movement ripped your stitches so they'll have to be redone, nothing too bad. You couldn't have just stayed down for a few hours could you?" I was fairly certain hospital staff wasn't supposed to talk to patients in such a manner, but I didn't think it needed a response.

Gatsby was still holding my hand, and was walking alongside my bed. "It's going to be alright old sport, if you survived one stitching up, you'll live through this too."

This I felt I needed to respond to. "I'm not worried."

"It's a good thing to have a positive attitude."

The nurse looked at him. "Mr. Gatsby."

He ignored her. "Don't you worry about cost either. I've got the whole thing covered."

I looked at him too. "I have my own insurance, you didn't need to do that."

"I was there, and for that I feel some responsibility."

" _That's_ why you feel responsible? Not because of..."

The nurse interrupted. "Mr. Carraway, you really shouldn't be talking. That makes it worse."

I hadn't really being feeling much pain, but I decided to listen to the professional. She addressed Gatsby again. "Now Mr. Gatsby, you're not allowed to be back here."

"But I..."

"Go back to the room, or I'll have someone remove you."

Gatsby slowed to a stop and reluctantly let my hand slip through his fingers. I saw his hand still slightly outstretched before I was pushed through another pair of doors and into another hallway.

* * *

I woke up after my second stitching up and had the feeling of extreme deja vu. It was the same ceiling and Gatsby was sitting in the same chair to my right. This time I didn't sit up, and was determined to stay down until a medical official told me otherwise. "Gatsby?"

"Yes Nick?" He grabbed my hand again.

"Why are you still here?"

He blinked at me. "Well I already told you, I feel partially responsible for what's happened to you."

"What I meant was why are you **still** here? You could've left."

His grip on my hand tightened. "Leave? Nick I'm not leaving until you're better."

"It's just some stiches I don't think..."

The nurse came in again. "Ah, you're awake again. How are you feeling Mr. Carraway?"

I still didn't sit up. "I'm fine."

"That's good to hear. I'll be back again soon to check in with you again. Do you need anything?"

"Well I'd like to know when I can go home."

"You should be discharged in about a week."

"A week!?"

"Yes. You were shot Mr. Carraway, you're lucky to even be alive. You may even have to stay longer."

I didn't say anything, but let my head sink further into the pillow. The nurse asked again if I needed anything. I shook my head and she left. I then turned my attention to Gatsby. "Um...Gatsby?"

"What is it old sport?" He leaned forward.

I nodded to his vice-like grip. "I think you can let go of me now."

He blinked a moment before immediately dropping my hand. "Oh I'm so sorry I..."

"It's fine. It's just...a little weird, two guys holding hands in public."

"It's a hospital Nick, when someone is in a hospital they deserve hand holding and being comforted."

"Sure...maybe if I was _dying_ , but...I'm not."

Gatsby looked disappointed with my attitude. "I don't think you understand how terrible I feel about all this. Stop thinking about yourself and let me comfort you."

I waited a few moments before replying, wondering if he ever listened to himself. "Did...did you just tell me to stop thinking about myself? I just came out of surgery from being **shot** , and you're telling me to stop thinking about myself?"

I saw his eyes get bigger with the realization. "Oh my God, Nick I am so sorry. I didn't mean...I'm sorry. I..."

"No no, it's alright. I should've expected something like that. It sounds very much like what Daisy, or Tom, or someone like them would say." I turned my head.

Gatsby stood up so he could lean over the bed and grab both of my shoulders. "I am **nothing** like Tom."

I looked him dead in the eye, ready to lay out any similarities I could find. Then the door opened again and all attention was directed there. Jordan Baker was standing in the doorway in her usual cool manner. "Hope I'm not interrupting anything."

Gatsby let go of me and sank back down into the chair. "No, no we were...just talking."

"Ah. Strangest position for a conversation I've seen. It looked liked you could've kissed him or killed him."

I blushed lightly, probably because I didn't have enough blood for a deeper color. "Jordan, what are you doing here?"

She smiled and walked over to the bed. "Seeing you." She bent down and kissed my forehead. "And you're not much of a sight, you look terrible."

"Well I apologize. Since almost dying I haven't been able to focus on my appearance."

Jordan looked up to Gatsby. "How long has he been this bitchy?"

He was staring at the floor, but glanced up a moment. "Since he woke up."

I gave him a glare. "That is not true. I've been more than civil."

Gatsby talked to Jordan instead of me. "He called me Tom-like."

"That's because you were being self-centered!"

A small chuckle came from Jordan. "Wow, you are being really snippy. What sort of meds do they have **you** on?"

I wanted to say 'I am not being snippy', but that would only prove that I was. Instead I sighed, and let it roll off my back. "So Jordan, how did you know I was here?"

"Well, I tried calling you at work, but there wasn't an answer. Then after I knew you'd be off work I went to visit your house, but no one was home. Then I decided to visit your neighbor," she nodded at Gatsby, "because you two are close, figuratively, but also literally. The guy at the door told me that there was a crazy man who shot you, and that you were in the hospital. I knew I had to come see you, because even though we're not," her eyes wandered around the room, "...intimate, we're still involved."

I thought about what her definition of "involved" was in comparison to mine. I smiled anyway. "I'm glad you came. It's nice to see you."

She returned the smile. "I'm just so happy that you're alright."

There was a peaceful, amiable, moment or so of silence. Then Jordan sighed. "But, unfortunately I've got to be on my way." She kissed my forehead again. "Get well soon Nick, I'll stop by as soon as I can. I suppose I'll be seeing you too Mr. Gatsby."

He smiled and shook her hand. "I expect you will."

She waved before exiting the room to whatever needed her attention. I didn't want to admit it, but I was disheartened that Jordan didn't stay longer. I heard a yawn from Gatsby. I turned to look at him. "Why are you tired?"

He smiled and laughed a little. "I know you've had a very rough day, but it's been a trying one for me too. Not to mention you've been sedated, and asleep twice today."

"So? I couldn't have slept much more than a few hours."

"Actually you've been unconscious for most of the day, about 17 hours."

"That's not possible." I started running calculations in my head when I was interrupted by another yawn. "If you want to go home, go ahead."

"No old sport I'll stick around a bit longer."

"You really don't have to. I've told you that before right?"

"I know, I know." He yawned again. Then he gave another smile, this time it was one of his rare smiles. "I want to stay."


	3. Recovery

Over the past week or so I never had a moment to myself. Gatsby would be at my bedside during the morning, Jordan would take his place during the day, and at nighttime Gatsby was back. I told them both repeatedly that they could go home, but Gatsby said he still felt guilty, and Jordan said she just wanted to see me. I suppose I can't complain though, it is nice to know that there are people who cared.

After two weeks I was finally cleared to go home. I still had to be cautious, and re-wrap the bandages around my wound every night, but at least I would make a full recovery. My rather rude nurse put me in a wheelchair, which I thought was unnecessary, and wheeled me to the front door. On the way I asked if I could use the telephone. "Excuse me, but could I use the telephone?"

"For what?" She sounded extra gruff.

"I'd like to call myself a taxi."

"What do you need a taxi for?"

"I need a..." I didn't realize that I interrupted her.

"You've already got a ride home."

"No I..." She pushed me outside. I must say I honestly wasn't surprised to see Gatsby.

Gatsby was standing by a big pink automobile. He waved. "Old sport! Mind if I give you a ride?"

I sighed to the nurse. "Would it be possible to wheel me back inside and pretend we never saw him?"

"Afraid not." She pushed me up to the car and basically dumped me out on the sidewalk.

Gatsby held open the passenger side door for me. Then offered me his hand as if I were an old lady. "Need any help?"

"No thank you, I'll be..." I stepped half-on and half-off the sidewalk and almost tripped into the car.

"Nick are you..."

"I'm fine." I quickly reassured him. The last thing I needed was for him to worry about me more.

Gatsby closed the door after me and got in himself. There was only a moment or two of just the car motor before Gatsby started talking. "I bought this car just last week. What do you think of the color?"

"It's pink." _'Which is close enough to red so if you plan on running anyone else over it wouldn't be as noticeable.'_ I thought, but neglected to add.

"It's salmon." He said as if it made a difference.

"It's salmon pink." I stared at the passing city and scenery instead of looking at him.

"I had it custom colored. I wanted something that no else had, something that would stand out and..."

"I think standing out is the absolute last thing you want to do. The best thing for you is to go away, lay low. Have they found Myrtle's killer yet?" I didn't want to change to such a grim topic, but Gatsby didn't seem to grasp the severity of the situation. He hadn't then, and I still didn't think he did.

"They...they gave up. Mr. Wilson knows that it's my car, but...but I got rid of it, and since the car's no where to be found all they have is Wilson's word and they can't believe him since he's gone a...little crazy. There's no need to worry about me going to jail or getting caught. I made sure of that."

I wondered what he meant by that last part, but I figured I didn't want to know. "Still...you should go for a while. Daisy's gone, there's no reason for you to stay anymore."

After this I was a bit concerned that I had deeply offended him because the ride was very quiet for a long time. It was only when we were back on West Egg that he made a kind of response. "She's laying low. She could come back."

I crossed my arms and curled my fingers into fists. I just couldn't fathom how someone could...after all that...I just couldn't grasp it. I remained that way for the rest of the ride, until I saw my house. _'Finally.'_ I let out a sigh of relief. _'Enough of this self-centered...'_ And the car drove right by. "Gatsby! You drove right past my house! Did you forget I was in the car or what?" _'Thinking too much about Daisy?'_ I was going to add, but he cut me off.

"It's alright old sport. I talked with your doctor and he suggested that you have a caretaker. I felt like I should take the responsibility." He pulled the pink car up his own driveway. "So if it's alright with you, you'll be staying at my place."

I put a hand on my forehead. "If it's alright with me." I muttered and then turned to look at Gatsby, speaking with a tightly clenched smile. "Did it ever even **occur** to you to **ask** me if it was alright?"

Gatsby got out and walked around to my side. "No. I just assumed that..."

"Oh. You **assumed**. Well let me tell you...it's **not** alright with me. I want to go and relax in my **own** house, and if you're really so concerened than you can arrange to visit since we literally live across a yard!"

It looked like I'd hurt his feelings, but then he laughed. "The doctor said you'd be cranky after your latest dose of pills. Now listen, if you want I can have someone bring a few things over here from your house. Do you need any help getting inside?" He gave me a rough pat on the shoulder.

I had reached the conclusion that arguing with Gatsby was futile, and my best move would be to just go with it until it was over. "No. No thank you, that won't be necessary. I can get myself around. And you don't need to move anything from there to here. I don't intend on staying terribly long."

"Now Nick, it might take a few weeks for you to heal completely and..."

I stood up, with a lot of concealed effort. "And I think that I can spend some of those on my own. I've been independent for plenty of years, I can handle this too." Then I started walking, or rather limping since every step brought pain to my gut, to the large mansion.

* * *

For the next two weeks Gatsby coddled me day and night. I had breakfast in bed every morning and he always made sure I did the "rehabilitation" exercises that the doctor recommended. Even though the routine had stayed mostly the same for the past 14 days it still felt a little odd waking up in such a fine room. I wasn't awake long when there was knocking at my guest room door. I sat up in the bed and stretched. There was barely any pain recently, but I still had to take a pain pill or two throughout the day. There was another series of knocks. I yawned, before saying, "Come in." I was surprised to have Jordan sit down on the side of my bed.

"Hey Nicky."

"J...Jordan, I...I didn't..."

"Expected to see your nanny instead didn't you?" She didn't wait for me to answer and instead started inspecting her nails. "Well he had **actual** business to attend to. And he asked me to tell you that he's sick and tired of taking care of your lazy ass and wants you out of his house."

"Uh huh, sure, that doesn't sound like him?"

"What? Sending someone else to do the work? Like having me ask you to ask Daisy to come to _your_ house as part of _his_ plan. No of course not that's not in his nature at all." This time Jordan waited for me to say something, to make some sort of comment, but I didn't. So she continued, but this time she turned to look at me. "Or the part about wanting you out of here? Because I completely made that up." Then she stood. "Oh and I expect you can get ready in say...30 minutes? I'd like to take you out."

"Take...take me out? What...where, why?"

She smiled at me as she left. "It's nothing to worry about Nick, just get yourself ready."


End file.
